


Perils of Cheat and Charmer

by HammerToFall_Archivist



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Gen, Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-11-19
Updated: 2002-11-19
Packaged: 2018-12-15 10:22:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11804067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HammerToFall_Archivist/pseuds/HammerToFall_Archivist
Summary: By Ros WilliamsVila, Servalan, the Terra Nostra, and more. A rollicking adventure.





	Perils of Cheat and Charmer

**Author's Note:**

> Note from oracne, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Hammer to Fall](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Hammer_to_Fall), a Blake’s 7 archive, which has been offline for several years. To keep the works available for readers and scholars, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project after June 2017. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on the [Hammer to Fall collection profile](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/HammerToFall/profile).
> 
> originally published in INTERFACE #12 (1989)

he Supreme Commander of the Terran Federation's Space Command paced restlessly in her courtesy office in the Presidential Palace. "I have been waiting six hours--six hours--to see the President, Riemel. What is going on?"

Riemel shook his head and explained for the sixteenth time, at least, that he had not the slightest idea, nor had he yet been able to force any information out of the Presidential staff. It is no use losing your temper, Madam, he thought, suppressing an irreverent grin, for these bureaucrats won't be hurried, no matter how you may rant at them. "All I can say," he added finally, almost as an afterthought, "is that I don't, somehow, think it's anything to do with Space Command. There's some internal flap going on."

"Why the hell didn't you say so before?" Servalan demanded furiously.

"Naturally, I assumed you knew. After all, if it were connected with us we'd be under surveillance."

Servalan sighed exasperatedly. "Sometimes, Riemel, I wonder why I don't have you removed from my staff."

"Because I am useful to you, Madam," Riemel murmured, smiling at her slyly.

She nodded. "True," she agreed, "but it would be--nice--if you weren't so tardy in your usefulness, Riemel. Just try to tell me everything, immediately, will you, and don't assume I know 'everything' in advance, or I shall soon find you a good deal less than useful."

"Your wish is my command, Supreme Commander," Riemel said. "Ah," he added, "I think you are being summoned, at last..."

Servalan swept into the President's office, ignoring the officials in her path and thrusting aside any unfortunate enough to obstruct her. "Sir," she said to the President, with a slight bow of her close--cropped head. "I trust I find you well?"

The President frowned slightly, resenting the hint of asperity in her tone. "I regret we've had to keep you waiting," he remarked, without the remotest sign of concern in his hard, faintly cruel eyes. "Internal affairs, Supreme Commander; none of your concern."

"Indeed? May I hope you have concluded matters to your satisfaction?" Servalan was fishing for information. Everything, she thought angrily, is my concern. Her restless gaze drifted about the room, noticing the slight untidiness of the papers on the President's desk, the directives flung in a heap and awaiting transfer to the Central Computers, and most of all the wary, shuttered look on the President's face.

"Why yes, of course," he replied with a calmness which she sensed was not entirely genuine. "Now let us get on to Space Command affairs. What is the reason for your visit, Supreme Commander?"

"Two things," she replied. "The first is my report on my inspection of the outer defences of the Federation and the situation on various rebel worlds which, being located amongst the outer planets, require suppression. Frankly, Sir, I believe that Central Security have been lax."

"Really?" What you are really saying, the President thought astutely, is that you want an increased financial allocation; well, you aren't going to get it!

"I take it you have read my reports," Servalan persisted, irritated already by the President's casual manner.

"Yes, yes, of course. Most interesting, Supreme Commander, and so beautifully phrased..."

I am not, thought Servalan angrily, some student writing a thesis!

"...especially," the President continued thoughtfully, "your devastating opinions on the activities of Security."

"Ah!" Servalan's eyes glittered spitefully. "There is considerable unrest on a number of frontier worlds," she said. "The--shall I say?--inefficiency of Security is putting my own organisation at risk. My resources are being squandered on totally unnecessary operations in these areas, operations which I am obliged to authorise because Security does not prevent these rebellions."

She is a beautiful woman, the President thought as he watched his Supreme Commander ranting, but she's also trying. I may as well tell her... "Let's not waste time," he said, "You want more finance? Well, I'm afraid it's not available, You are already way over budget, Servalan, and I simply cannot obtain authorisation for more finance even if I wanted to. You will have to manage..."

"That is not possible!" Servalan responded sharply. "I must insist..."

The President frowned, Then he rose to his feet and walked around his desk to stand directly in front of his Supreme Commander. "You will not," he said quietly, "dictate to  _me_ , Servalan."

"Oh, but I will," Servalan breathed, suddenly soft and devious as a cat, "and you will get me everything I want...Sir." She smiled cruelly. "You see," she murmured, "if you do not, I will destroy you."

"Indeed?" he snapped. "And how will you do that, Supreme Commander?" I shall have to get rid of her, he thought. The moment she leaves this office she is  _finished_....

"Simple," she said, and held out her hand, opening out the long, slender fingers.

The President stared at her hand, and at the small golden disc that lay on the palm. "What's that?" he enquired, trying to keep his voice steady while his mind raced, trying to find an escape.

"Come now," Servalan replied, smiling, "let us not waste time...Sir. I think you will find it quite easy to authorise that budget increase for me--won't you?"

"Impossible," he retorted. "If I give more to you, then I must take from others--it can't be done, and you know it."

Servalan sighed. "I have been very patient," she said, "but I will wait no longer." She held the disc up to the light, twisting it so that it glittered. "Pretty, isn't it?" she said. "I wonder if its victims would say the same? There's enough Shadow inside this one container to send a man mad..." She turned and started to glide towards the door.

"I don't know what you are talking about," he blustered. "Look, I'll see if I can raise your budget a little. It won't be much, Servalan, but perhaps if I can purge Security they might be able to make some economies. There's always waste...Leave it with me."

Scared, aren't you? she thought, smiling to herself. "One thing," she added as she reached the door. "Don't think that your charming organisation can be used to destroy  _me_ , will you? I am well aware that your friends at Security can spare a little of their budget allocation, since so much of it is used to further the aims of a certain other organisation. Furthermore--Sir--I have discovered the extent of your involvement with that certain other organisation and I suspect that the High Council would be most interested..." Servalan's lips parted in a vicious, feline grin, and her fingers snapped shut on the little gold disc. "They aren't all," she said "so corrupt as you. You can't arrange for the murder of all your opponents even if you'd like to. And most important--Sir--you can't kill me because I have taken out a little insurance on my life. If I don't get what I want--immediately, if you attempt to detain me, or to kill me, every member of the High Council, every ruler on the Inner Planets, every influential official will be informed of your involvement with--" she smiled again, "--with the Terra Nostra."

"You're mad!" he exclaimed. "Lies..."

"No." Servalan shook her head and wagged her finger at him. "I've proof, and I'll use it, if I have to."

There was a long silence, and then the President returned to his seat. He stared downwards, avoiding her eyes. "How much?" he asked at length. "How much to suppress these--lies you are threatening to foster? You are wrong, of course, but it would be--advisable--to avoid a brawl so I'm willing to do a deal."

"No deals," Servalan said coolly. "No compromises. Just give me what I want and I will keep your guilty secret. Be assured--Sir--that I know all about Shadow, and the illegal plantations of moon discs, and the profits which gave you the power to seize the Presidency. Be assured, too, that I will protect you to the utmost and serve you with absolute loyalty, so lone as you obtain for me the finances I require to provide that service. You've an unruly empire out there and it has to be forced, one way or another, to your will. I'll subdue it...."

Be convinced, you fool, she thought. I need that money now!

"My troops are totally loyal to me," she murmured. "They would not like to see me replaced."

"You'll get your money!" the President snarled.

"All of it," Servalan said, "as requested."

"All of it. Now--get out of my sight!"

Servalan's eyes glittered with triumph. "Gladly--Sir," she said.

#

"You're mad, Blake," Avon said flatly.

"So you frequently tell me."

"You need to be told. How nice it would be if you'd listen."

"I do," Blake said mildly. "I just happen to disagree with you."

Avon shrugged. He knew only too well that the argument would, as usual, be futile. "I'm sure," he said, "that your devoted slaves..," he waved his arm towards Jenna, Cally and Gan, "...will be only too delighted to commit suicide with you. Very well, I'll help you on your way, since you insist."

"I knew you would," Blake replied with a faint grin. "Now, do you think you can actually make this device we're going to need?"

"Probably. It'll need a little time...."

"Time...."

"...is something you haven't got. Yes, I know. Nonetheless, you will have to  _wait_  until I have provided it, won't you?" He flipped the page of the blue--print Blake had provided and frowned. "You could do this yourself," he remarked. "What's wrong, Blake--feeling lazy?"

Blake suppressed the angry retort which rose to his lips and forced a casual response. "You will do it so much better," he said, "and quicker, of coarse. Yes, you could say I'm feeling lazy, Avon."

Avon sighed inwardly. It was, of course, perfectly obvious that Blake could fabricate the device, and equally obvious that the programming would take him longer. As usual, Blake was in a hurry, anxious to finish a mission almost before it had begun, driven by his raging need to destroy the Federation as soon as possible and at all costs. "You realize," Avon remarked as he made a few preliminary notes on the blueprint, "that you don't  _have_  to do this instantly. Can't you find some other useful objective to destroy and allow the time to produce this thing unharried--just for once?"

Blake frowned, and momentarily lost control of himself. "Just do it!" he snarled. Immediately, he regretted the show of temper, but it had if nothing else released some of the tension and he relaxed a little. "Please," he said quietly.

"That does, of course, make all the difference," Avon remarked sarcastically.

Seeing Blake's temper rising again, Cally intervened hurriedly, "How long before we can get clown on to the planet?" she demanded.

"Avon?" Blake queried.

"I can't abandon the maintenance work on Zen," Avon said. "When it comes to it, the ship must be considered first. Let's say--if Blake can cope with the mechanics that quickly--about six days."

"Don't you understand?" Blake exclaimed. "In four days from now that Station will be operative. Two more days and the Federation will have transmitted through it all the data to the Federation infiltrators on twenty perimeter systems, and Servalan will be hovering with her forces ready to move in and take over as soon as those systems are in chaos. We can't waste those two days while we 'think' about what we are going to do."

"And I," Avon snapped, "can't work miracles. Six days, Blake, or perhaps five if you are very lucky...."

"Four," Blake said, "if someone else helps you with the work on Zen?"

"No one else is capable," Avon retorted coldly. "That's one of your problems, isn't it, Blake? You need me; you can't afford to lose me, because no one else can cope with Zen."

"Avon," Cally said, forestalling Blake before he could inflame the situation still further, "no one denies it, but some maintenance work could surely be delegated?" His eyes met hers and he heard her voice softly in his mind: //Please don't  _argue_  with him. It won't serve any purpose.//

Avon's mouth curled contemptuously. "I make no promises," he said.

"Four days, perhaps--if there are no problems in the meantime and if you leave me--and my temporary assistant--in peace."

"Of course," Blake replied, breathing a sigh of relief. "Cally could help you, perhaps?"

"Why not?" Avon responded negligently. "She'll do as well--or as ill--as anyone else."

Ignore the insult, Cally told herself firmly. He doesn't mean it, not really. It's just that he's angry with Blake, as usual, and frustrated because his latest plan to escape from us was thwarted. "Surely now might be a good time to start?" she suggested to him gently.

#

"Marvelous!" Blake enthused, three days and twenty hours later. "I knew you could do it, Avon!"

"No," Avon replied, coldly logical as always, "you did not. You merely hoped that I could."

Blake sighed. "Granted," he said in resigned tones. "Will that please you?"

Avon shrugged and turned away. "I assume you will now allow me to continue with more pressing, more  _important_  work. I'll leave you to play with your useful little device." Purposefully, he strode off the flight deck, leaving Blake gazing after him thoughtfully.

When Avon was out of sight, Blake returned his attention to the device. "One good thing," he remarked to Cally, who was standing beside him, "we can be reasonably sure it will work."

"As Avon would say," Cally murmured, "you can be absolutely sure...so long as you install it properly."

"We could do with Avon to oversee the installation, but I suspect that's asking too much," Blake commented. "He seems unusually difficult--more difficult even than usual, I mean--these days."

"I believe," Cally said, "that when he went down to XK72 he did not intend to return. The fact that he did return does not please him."

Blake nodded. "I'd suspected it. Presumably he also can't quite decide why he decided to return?"

"Yes," Cally said, "if his motives are unclear to himself, he is bound to take out his resentment on us."

Blake picked up the device and glanced at Cally before walking across to the corridor which led to the teleport section. "Did he give you a hard time?" he asked as Cally followed, him.

"No...not really." She smiled at Blake, anxious to avoid discussing the matter further yet hiding her intention with a deceptive appearance of honesty. "He left me alone, most of the time; well, you know how he dislikes interruptions when he's working."

Blake laughed. "He'll get over his annoyance," he said casually. Now--let's get this thing down to Com 23."

Vila was waiting for them in the teleport section, breathing happy sighs of relief that he had not been ordered to accompany them to the Communications Relay around which the Liberator was at present in geostationary orbit. "Ready, are you?" he enquired brightly.

"Yes...." Blake reached for a teleport bracelet, snapped it on, and was halfway to the teleport before a thought struck him. He paused and turned back to Vila. "Perhaps you should come down with us," he remarked. "Your--er--delicate touch would be useful."

"My cowardice wouldn't," Vila declared firmly. "I'd be in the way, I'd trip over things, you'd be annoyed...."

"Vila."

"I'd drop that thing and smash it," Vila added hopefully, indicating with a sweeping gesture the precious device.

"Not you!" Blake grinned. "Call Avon--he can operate the teleport--and get yourself ready to join us."

"OK," Vila muttered, knowing defeat when he saw it, "but  _you_  can call Avon--I've had quite enough of his bad temper recently."

#

"Just a few more minutes...." Blake was sprawled on the floor, half buried beneath a sprawling mass of equipment. "Hell, this is a fiddly business! Avon could have done it far quicker."

"So I'll know who to blame when we get caught by the local guards," Vila grumbled gloomily. "That'll be a great comfort, to say the least."

"Stop moaning," Cally admonished firmly.

"It's my nature," Vila stated as he snapped home a final connection and stood back to admire his handiwork. "I'll say this," he added, "I've done a good job here. You'd never know anyone had tampered with the equipment."

"I can see it was wise to bring you down," Blake's muffled voice declared. "It was perfectly obvious that neither Cally nor I could produce undetectable modifications...."

"Flattery," said Vila, grim again, "will get you absolutely nowhere when my life's in danger. Cally could have done this--not as well as me, but well enough."

"You can calm down," Blake said as he struggled out from under the bank of equipment. "It's all done but for the testing." He activated his communicator. "Liberator, do you read?"

"Blake?" It was Jenna's voice. "Are you ready for the checks?"

"Yea. Tell Avon to go ahead."

"Proceeding," Avon's unemotional voice stated flatly. Blake scanned his monitor and nodded as the data he was expecting showed on the tiny screen. "Seems fine," he said. "That'll really screw up the Federation's emissions, just enough to disorganise their vicious little spies and destroy Servalan's chances of taking over this little area. I'd just like to see her face when she finds out!"

"I wouldn't," Vila retorted. "Let's get out of here--please!"

"Calm down," Blake said firmly. "Just one more check to go."

There was a slight scuffling sound behind Blake and he stiffened slightly. "What's happening back there?" he demanded of Cally, jerking his head back but keeping his gaze on his monitor.

She had spun round already, weapon at the ready. "The door," she said, "it's opening. Someone must be there."

"I thought you checked!" Blake exclaimed angrily.

"I did. There was no one, and no way that I could see for anyone to get in there, without passing through here. Blake--it's just an open door, no one there. It doesn't make sense."

Vila, trained for years in the evasion of authority, had already swung towards the other door. He groaned as his unhappy glare met that of a couple of Federation guards. "The usual trick," he said dismally. "For heaven's sake, teleport us out of here, Jenna."

"Blake?" Jenna queried swiftly.

As the guards started forward Jenna was reaching for the activator, and within a few moments, Blake and Cally stood before her. "Vila," he said looking past them, "where is he?"

"Vila?" Blake's voice sharpened. "You mean...?" He looked around and cursed violently. "But how?"

"We'll have to go back for him," Cally said. "Jenna, put us down again."

"No!" Blake exclaimed. "They'll be expecting that. Wait a minute. We don't want to find ourselves on the end of their guns, do we?"

"If we wait, they'll haul him off and we may not be able to find him."

"It won't help Vila if we die the moment we land," Blake retorted. "Jenna, put us down outside the building. We'll have to find him."

#

"Damn, damn, damn!" wailed Vila, looking miserably at his smashed teleport bracelet which had landed with a considerable crash against a wall when one of the guards winged him and sent him flying. "And further damn!" he continued as he clutched the bleeding wound in his leg. "Didn't I say this would be a disaster? Didn't I say they'd have done perfectly well without me? Didn't I just know that if anyone had to be caught it was bound to be me! It's typical, just typical--and it's also typical that they haven't bothered to come back and rescue me!" Glumly, he staggered across the tiny cell in which he had been carelessly flung and leaned against the wall. "I'm well out of that darn ship," he declared bitterly. "On the other hand, I'm bound to be executed even though I didn't want anything to do with Blake and his loathesome Cause. I'm a hapless innocent, caught up in a nasty political mess that's nothing to do with me and I don't see why I should stand for having to take the blame...." Vila groaned as he felt the blood still trickling down his leg and sank to the ground in a dejected heap. "I'm dying," he said, trying to clench his hands around the wound. "They'll probably be glad if I do, all of them. The Federation guards won't care what happens to me, and Blake will be thankful because if I'm dead I can't betray him and his plans--not that I know many of his plans...well, not many at all, hardly any, only one, come to that--One's enough. They'll know, won't they, those guards, that I must know something! No, they won't let me die, they'll save me at the last minute, when I'm too weak to move and this cell's a morass of my blood, and then they'll torture me until I talk...."

Vila struggled to his feet and edged towards the door. "Hey!" he bawled frantically. "Is anyone there? Listen, I'll tell you anything--anything you want to know. Come on, I'll talk willingly."

"Blake's scrambling all your messages to the Delkan systems," Vila shrieked, five hours later. "He's put this device in your computer which'll wreck all your plans...What's the matter with you all? Don't you  _want_  to know what he's been up to?"

#

"Blake!" It was Jenna. "Federation ships, four of them. We can't stay here much longer."

"Curse it!" Blake exclaimed. "We've only been down here five minutes, Jenna."

"I can't account for Federation manoeuvres," Jenna snapped. "Blake, we'll hold them off as long as we can, but I think we'll have to run in the end. Say another five minutes."

"We'll do what we can," Blake said. "Out." He turned to Cally. "We've got to find someone in authority."

We should have teleported straight back into the computer section, Cally thought. It's true that we could have been killed as soon as we appeared but at least we'd have had a  _chance_  to rescue Vila quickly. Now we're fighting against time and the chance of finding him is remote...She ran after Blake, yet her mind was filled with foreboding. I know, she thought, that we are going to have to leave without him, and if we do he'll tell them what we were doing here; there's no way he will avoid it once they start to threaten him.

"The door over there," Blake exclaimed as they rounded a corner of the building. "We'll go straight up to it, act officious, pretend we're inspecting the place--anything that'll distract them for long enough to get us inside. Come along."

They strode to the wide doorway that appeared to be the building's main entrance and were immediately faced by two black--clad guards. "State your business," one snapped suspiciously.

"Superintendent Blane," Blake retorted, "here to inspect the installation."

"We've no record of civilian attendees today," the guard said coldly. "Show your credentials."

The credentials, in the shape of Cally's gun, stunned him and sent him crashing to the ground as Blake downed the other guard. Blake ran into the building and Cally followed him, leaping over the prone form of the guard she had felled. They ran up the corridor and then Blake halted, indicating a closed door to the left. "That one," he breathed, and Cally noticed the name on the door-- Commander Arran. She moved to the left of the door and waited, her weapon raised, as Blake came to the right. After a second of hesitation, he kicked the door open and Cally placed herself squarely in the entrance, her gun aimed at the man who was already stumbling to his feet behind a heavy desk on the far side of the room.

"You have one of my men here," Blake said, walking in beside Cally. "I went him--now--or I will kill you."

"I take it you are connected with the intruders we found in the lower level," Commander Arran said, keeping calm and thinking how he could best hold his unwelcome guests where they were until his guards came to the rescue. "Why, yes, I think we do have someone in a cell awaiting interrogation."

"You know damn well you have," Blake snarled. "Get him up here, and quickly, or you will suffer for the delay, I promise you."

"You're Blake, aren't you?" Commander Arran continued. "Yes, I recognise you now. We wondered when two of the intruders disappeared so mysteriously whether there might be some connection with you. Really sophisticated means of escape are very rare, in my experience."

"I give you two minutes to get my man up here," Blake said grimly. "I'm counting, as of now."

Commander Arran shrugged. "Very well, I'll call for him." He reached over his desk to his communicator and, knowing his visitors could not see the bank of keys clearly, pressed a warning signal, then opened a link to his deputy. "The intruder in the cells," he said. "Be so good as to bring him to me, Verlow."

Verlow Garr's eyes widened in amazement and he almost laughed as the connection was cut. "Be so good?" he repeated under his breath, as he called for a squad of guards. "When were you ever so polite? As for using my given name...."

Cally swung round at the sound of heavy footsteps. "Blake, we're trapped."

"I was afraid of it," Blake muttered. "Our chances were never very high." Sighing, he thumbed his teleport bracelet. "Jenna, bring us up."

"A pity," Arran remarked as his visitors dematerialised, "but at least we still have one of them." He looked sternly at his deputy. "Be  _sure_ we keep him," he grated, "or your life will be forfeit, I promise you."

Garr snapped to attention, hiding his sharp resentment at his superior's threat. One of these days, he thought, I will  _get_  you, and oh, won't it be a pleasure!

#

"It was futile," Cally raged, needing to express her anger yet trying to avoid blaming Blake for what she considered was his error of judgement.

"It was criminal carelessness," remarked Avon, whose scruples were less delicate. "You could have rescued him if you'd returned to the point where you left him."

"Or we could not!" Blake snapped. "Those damned pursuit ships came at precisely the wrong moment. But for them we could have taken things more slowly, found out where Vila was. Instead, we had to make a snap decision...." Catching Avon's malicious gaze, he frowned and bit back the words born of his own guilty dismay. "It will be more to the point," he said more calmly, "to decide what to do next."

"First of all," Avon said, still niggling away determinedly, "they are going to know that the communications equipment has been sabotaged. They'll have an inspection team in by now, checking. So much for your fancy, foolproof plan, Blake."

"All right!" Blake exclaimed irritably. "We all know we've been foiled. Now, we have to think about saving Vila."

"Why bother?" Avon murmured. "He's not much use at the best of times."

"Now then," Cally said, "you know that's not true." She glared at Avon, who stared back at her with a chill, innocent look which was exceedingly annoying. She shook her head slightly in reproof and looked across at Blake. "The question is, will they interrogate him here or transfer him elsewhere?"

"It's my guess they'll be sending for Servalan," Blake said. "Security know she's been after us for some time now and they'll have instructions to report all news of us to her."

"On the other hand," said Jenna, "she won't want us to destroy her ship."

"She won't give us the chance," Avon said. "She'll arrive with a full squadron, at the very least." Superciliously, he wandered away towards the central corridor. "I've work to do," he said. "I'll leave you to plan your rescue of the most vital member of the crew." With a final sneering glance at Cally, he disappeared out of sight.

"Damn him," Blake said, "why does he have to be so offensive?"

"I'll tell you something." It was Gan, who had sat silent throughout the whole conversation so far. "He's concerned about Vila, in spite of what he says; not excessively concerned, but not indifferent. He knows we've...," Gan was being diplomatic, "been a little careless and, being Avon, he doesn't hesitate to say so."

"If  _he'd_  installed that device, the work could have been done more quickly," Blake said. "Then we wouldn't have been disturbed,  _and_  they wouldn't have known what we'd done. The blame doesn't lie only with me."

"In all fairness," Gan continued, "Avon's not here with us of his own free will, not entirely, though he could leave if he so chose. I doubt if he felt any need to help you, since he's not exactly interested in the Cause."

Blake frowned. "Just whose side are  _you_  on?" he demanded, anxiety and the tacit admission of his own guilt making him unusually defensive.

"For heaven's sake," Jenna interrupted, "stop worrying about Avon's motives and think what to do about Vila. What Avon thinks or doesn't think, whether he cares or doesn't care--what does it matter?"

Blake nodded. "Let's review the situation. We can't get near the communications relay satellite as those three pursuit ships are hanging around just waiting for us. We can't expect to get near Servalan as she will come prepared for trouble and determined to keep Vila, come what may. Vila is probably safe enough, for the moment, as they'll keep him healthy, ready for Servalan to play with. And most important of all, he doesn't know anything worth telling them, now that our latest mission has been discovered."

"Furthermore," Jenna said with a grin, "he'll talk the moment they so much as glance at him unkindly, so they aren't likely to need to torture him, hence he won't get hurt! Perhaps there are advantages, after all, to being a coward."

"There are cowards and cowards," Gan remarked darkly. "What's the point in holding out when you know they'll wring the information out of you eventually? They've endless sophisticated methods and torture merely amuses them; it's totally unnecessary, really."

"There's only one thing we can do," Blake said. "We'll keep out of sight, well away from their sensors. We'll let Servalan take Vila, allow her to think we've decided it's too risky to save him, then we'll follow her and wait for an opportunity to get to him."

"Do you really think she'll believe we'd abandon him?" Cally demanded.

"No...but so long as we are beyond her sensors she won't be sure what we are doing. Remember, Liberator's sensors are superior to those of Federation craft; we will see her and she won't see us."

#

"So," Servalan smiled at the quaking thief before her, "what have we here? I'm sure I know the face, and a tolerably handsome one it is, to be sure, or would be if it weren't quivering like a jelly. What's the matter with you, Vila?"

"Who?" Vila asked. "I don't know anyone called Vila. My name's Coll and I was innocently minding my own business doing a bit of cleaning when these two people suddenly appeared, held me at gunpoint and threatened to blow my head off if I so much as squeaked..."

"Come, come, Vila," Servalan husked, still smiling, "what about all those things you were saying when you were in that cosy little cell? All sorts of useful information you were imparting, about Blake, and sabotage to the communications relay, and Liberator...I'm afraid we have it all recorded, every word, and fascinating listening it makes."

"I admit it," Vila declared, wilting visibly. "What do you want to know. I'll tell you anything you ask."

"That is what worries me," Servalan responded. "I can't be sure what is going to be true and what the product of your fertile--I'm sure it is fertile--imagination. How can I possibly believe your outpourings, Vila?"

"Oh, you can believe me, you can believe everything, every word," Vila assured her fervently. "I hate freedom fighting. I didn't want anything to do with it but I was trapped and then Blake found I was useful opening things so he wouldn't let me go. I've been forced into all these appalling crimes and now I'm only too pleased to be free of it. Beside the Liberator, any Federation jail will be paradise."

"My goodness," said Servalan, "whatever makes you think I am going to send you to a jail, Vila?"

"Er...." Vila hesitated. "Where else would you send me? I seem to have spent half my life in one jail or another; it's the natural place for me to be."

"I've better things in mind for you," Servalan assured him, smiling again. "You are going to be  _so_  useful, Vila; you just can't imagine!"

"I am?" Vila shook his head in disbelief. "The only time anyone ever finds me useful," he said, "is when there's a looked door waiting to be opened."

"That's exactly it. Liberator, my dear Vila, has the locked door, and you are, in a manner of speaking, going to open it."

"How?" enquired Vila, mystified. "What door?"

"I want the Liberator," Servalan said. "I also want its crew, especially Blake.... To put it another way, in terms you would understand, you are my nice, cosy, friendly sprat."

"Sprat?" Vila groaned. "Nice," he said gloomily. "I can see this is going to be the greatest fun of my life."

"Of course it is," Servalan replied. "You will have every attention--at least until I catch Blake and his ship. I can't answer for afterwards, but for a while you will enjoy life. I can assure you that I am a most stimulating companion."

"I've no doubt of it," Vila said truthfully, "but I'm not sure," he added, "that I feel in need of stimulation at the moment. Perhaps another time."

"There cannot be another time, Vila. Seize your chance while you can, and enjoy life as my honoured companion. Don't worry about the future, just enjoy the present."

"No doubt," Vila muttered dismally. "It'll obviously be hilarious."

"I believe," Servalan continued, delighted to preach as always, "that Blake will follow me, waiting for a chance to rescue you. Are you sure you'll want to be rescued, Vila? Wouldn't you prefer to stay with me? Perhaps I could even find further uses for your already famed talents?"

It's Catch-22, Vila thought. Either way, I lose.

#

Vila had assumed that Servalan's talk of comfort had been sheer sadism, the desire to taunt him with unreachable pleasure while in reality he would languish, bound, gagged most of the time, and sparingly fed with revolting slops. He was therefore very surprised to find himself installed in a pleasant if continually guarded stateroom, with his every reasonable wish granted. Soon, he seriously began to wonder if her suggestion that he should join her should be considered after all, and one day he felt relaxed enough to mention it.

"The offer is there," Servalan declared. "You would realise, of course, that I cannot ever entirely trust you, Vila, so you would not be free to lead your life as you chose, but you would be alive, you could enjoy many of the pleasures available to Federation citizens and you would know that your talents were appreciated. If you choose to stay allied to Blake, I cannot guarantee your safety in the future."

She's after something, Vila thought. She would never make such an offer without having an ulterior motive. Even if I'm the best at my chosen profession, she doesn't need me  _that_  much! On the other hand, if I accept, I won't--I hope--end up being executed...and I'm heartily sick of freedom fighting. Oh well, why not? "All right," he said, "I accept."

"I knew you would," Servalan replied, sliding her fingers along Vila's hand. "I am sure that when it comes to it you really are the most sensible of Blake's crew."

"I don't think Avon would like to hear you say that," Vila remarked, smirking slightly. "He reckons he's the only intelligent one among them." 'Them', he thought suddenly, I'm already separating myself from them. Well, it was bound to happen. Freedom fighting's not for me; I'm a thief, and proud of it, but treason's for brave, bold, noble types like Blake and Cally... I wonder what Avon would have said if Servalan had been making this offer to  _him_?!

#

"She'll be waiting for you to pounce," Avon said disparagingly. "Furthermore, she'll be patient. She'll wait for years, if need be, keeping Vila fat and well-fed as almost willing bait."

"I know!" Blake retorted violently. "Do you have to keep on rubbing it in, Avon?"

"We'll reach Space Command in twenty hours. Are you going to broach her stronghold?"

"I haven't decided," Blake snapped. "It's probably what she is hoping we'll do, hence we probably won't, at least, not yet."

"I see. We are going to drift around, for years if need be, until you feel the time is ripe for your heroic rescue attempt. What about all those beleaguered worlds waiting for your help? What about those enslaved systems praying that the great Blake will free them? All this effort for one individual seems a little excessive when billions of individuals are relying on you for their salvation."

Blake clenched his fists, willing himself not to rise to the taunts. "Leave it," he said quietly.

Avon's hard mouth curled cynically. "You don't know what to do," he said. "That's the truth, isn't it?"

"You are right, of course." Blake's immediate agreement was calculated to disorientate and he congratulated himself as he noted Avon's start of surprise. "I admit it," Blake continued, pursuing his momentary advantage. "As I said before, I am simply awaiting an opportunity. It will come--eventually."

Avon covered his anger at the other man's faintly sanctimonious manner. "But when?" he queried. "This year, next year...?"

"We could, of course, work together on this," Blake suggested, tiring of the perpetual sparring match for the moment. "The sooner we rescue Vila, the sooner we can get back to the desperate billions you just mentioned."

Avon raised a supercilious eyebrow. "If I have an inspiration, I will let you know," he declared condescendingly. "For the moment, I have better things to do than worry about a careless and totally unimportant petty thief."

Behind Avon, Cally glared. She had just come on to the flight deck and heard with deep disapproval his final remark. "When we mislay  _you_ , we shall not bother to rescue you," she remarked shortly. "It shouldn't be difficult to replace a morose and offensive technician who has a grossly inflated opinion of himself."

She expected him to scowl. Instead, he smiled almost cheerfully. "Mislay me with Servalan and I might not complain," he murmured, and his smile widened at her disgusted expression.

"She's a vicious, devious sadist," Cally said. "You'd deserve whatever you got."

"What I'd get is open to debate," Avon retorted annoyingly, his smile becoming wicked. "It might well be worth while."

Cally snorted and turned her back on him. "I've had an idea," she commenced saying to Blake.

"It's fortunate someone has," Avon interjected sarcastically. "I'm growing tired of the inactivity around here."

"You don't want anything to do with freedom fighting; why are you complaining?" Blake demanded with a sudden savage intensity which clearly startled Avon. He lunged at the other man, his hand raised as though to strike and then checked himself, furious with his own momentary lack of control.

"Inactivity is exactly what's wrong with all of us," Cally said, firmly trying to cool the situation. "It's been nothing but quarrels on board for the last week and I for one am sick of it."

"All right." Blake forced the anger out of his face and looked at Cally thoughtfully. "What do you have in mind?"

"Action--the obvious antidote."

"Brilliant," Avon said, favouring her with his most mocking grin.

"That's enough," Cally snapped, and meant it. To Blake's surprise, Avon accepted the reproof without comment, bent his head to some calculations and appeared to ignore the rest of the conversation. "Servalan's waiting for us to attack her. What's the obvious thing to do? Surely we should  _not_ attack her. We'll go away for a while, do something entirely different, let her assume we can't get at Vila and don't know what to do--which we don't, after all!"

"Ah!" Blake relaxed visibly as he understood her point. "We ignore her. She'll think we've lost interest in Vila and then perhaps she'll try to tempt us back."

"Precisely. So long as we don't lose touch completely with her future actions, we'll be able to keep some record of what happens to Vila. Eventually, she may grow desperate enough to give us the chance we want."

"On the other hand," Blake said, "she's no fool. She may guess what we have in mind."

"Let her. We'll play along, see what happens. Since we reckon Vila is safe so long as she sees him as bait, we can leave him with her, not worry about him at all."

Blake reached out and took Cally's hand. "Clever," he said. "I should have thought of it myself." He waited for the sarcastic quip from Avon but it did not come. "So now we have to find some useful, local cause to occupy us. Do you have one to suggest?" he continued.

"Fortunately, yes," Cally explained, and Blake murmured agreement as she spoke. Avon sighed at what might well prove to be another mission requiring his expert attention but for once kept his thoughts to himself.

#

"You goad him too far." Cally seated herself beside Avon and ignored his instinctive start of annoyance at the direct comment.

"Frankly, I don't give a damn what he thinks or doesn't think," Avon replied repressively, turning away from her slightly and fixing his gaze on a short but complicated print--out from Zen.

"That," said Cally, seizing the paper and whipping it away, "can wait a few moments. I want to talk to you."

Avon was not by nature ill-mannered, merely impatient of emotional approaches. So, he accepted the reproof without complaint and waited for the next development.

"Solon is very close to Space Command Headquarters," Cally said. "I've suggested it as a suitable subject for our attention for that very reason yet at the same time we are going to be taking a considerable risk if we go there. I'd like to feel that you are going to help us."

"It seems to me that I've not been uncooperative in past missions," Avon remarked, "though I am tempted to rename some of them as suicide attempts and I regard this latest insane scheme as just that."

"You're being over-harsh," Cally said firmly.

Avon smiled faintly. "Well, perhaps. It amuses me to jibe a little at Blake's over-enthusiasm, and you know it."

"Yes." She smiled back at him. "Sometimes, he needs to be checked. I suppose I wish you weren't quite so hard on him."

"Accept me as I am," Avon said. "I don't intend to change, just to please Blake. He needs me; I'm here. He can be thankful that I haven't escaped."

"You nearly did. Why did you come back?"

His eyes became veiled. "Cally," he said, "there are times when I also wonder."

She realised that he had no intention of explaining and changed the subject. "It occurred to me," she said, "that we could distract the Federation's security forces a little if we mounted two operations at once. Blake intends to contact the resistance on Solon, and I see no reason why we shouldn't leave him on the planet for a while--he could take Gan with him, and he'll be busy enough invigorating the people there."

"This," Avon murmured, "sounds like a devious plot. Are you taking on some of Servalan's characteristics, Cally?"

Cally was immediately, and she suspected to her own annoyance, unnecessarily affronted. "Certainly not," she snapped. "But it occurred to me," she continued, repressing her annoyance determinedly, "that since Servalan may be expecting us to use this very ploy, we could carry it a stage further. We can drop Blake and Can without the security forces knowing, I think, and then we can draw the Federation's fire, as it were, by doing something else rather more conspicuous."

"Why do you want to get rid of Blake?" Avon enquired curiously, ignoring the peripherals and getting straight to the point.

"Solon is very near to Space Command Headquarters," she said. "It's amazing that there is any form of resistance there at all."

"Perhaps there isn't?" Avon suggested.

"I've thought of that. Frankly, I don't know, nor does Blake, so he intends to go there incognito, which is wise, but it means that the mission will take time."

"Ah, I see. We will be wafting around the planet for days, very conspicuous."

"That is exactly it. Blake's mission will prosper far better if we are out of the way, and also he will have a break from this ship and worrying about Vila, and most of all from you."

"So what fascinating, dangerous scheme do you have in mind for us?"

"It hardly matters, really, so long as Blake accomplishes the important task on Solon. Perhaps we could destroy--"

"--attempt to destroy," Avon corrected her.

"All right--attempt to destroy some Federation installation, something that we could do without much risk."

Avon grinned. "Another communications satellite?" he suggested. "A little touch of pique after the last disaster. We'll blow up a few! Servalan would surely appreciate it."

#

"A sprat I may be," Vila remarked, basking in the glow of the sun-lamp above him, "but the mackerel don't seem to be biting, do they?"

"Patience, patience," Servalan admonished him. "They will, eventually."

"You can't be sure."

"They are still  _here_ , Vila. They're evasive, certainly, staying out of our reach most of the time; hiding, apart from the odd foray to annoy us. But they haven't gone away, and they won't go away. How fortunate you are to be so valued, Vila."

"I'm very lovable," Vila replied. "Haven't you noticed?"

"Vila," Servalan said sweetly, "you are a charming companion. It is no wonder Blake is devastated at losing you."

Vila eyed her with a little suspicion. Was there a touch of sarcasm beneath the honeyed tones?

"Don't you think," Servalan continued in the same saccharine voice, "that you should move? You have nearly turned into a frazzle."

Vila sighed, and twisted into a different position.

There was a sharp knock at the door. "Come," Servalan said, and the door opened. Through it came someone Vila knew only too well and instinctively he cringed away to the farthest side of the sunbed, fervently wishing that he had not decided to use it on this day of all days.

"Well, well," sneered the familiar, hated voice, "what have we here? A lobster?"

"That's right," Vila said resentfully. "How did you guess?"

Space Commander Travis grinned nastily, then turned his attention to Servalan. "You sent for me, Supreme Commander. What do you want?"

"A little assistance," Servalan said, rising to her feet and moving towards him. "The--er--Lobster doesn't seem to be very successful in attracting his erstwhile companions."

"I warned you, Servalan," Travis retorted. "He's inaccessible. They are waiting for you to lose patience and go after them."

"Accepted," she replied, "but I'm not playing their game; I'm not going after them. On the other hand, I can't stay here indefinitely, waiting for them to strike."

"Or not strike," Travis commented drily.

"Do you really think Blake will be that patient?" she queried.

Travis considered. "No," he said at length, "Blake is not a very patient man. By now he should be fuming with frustration. If he were alone, he might have taken the risk and come here."

"But he's not alone, of course. What do you think is holding him back?"

"His need to win and to be seen to win; but holding back will be like holding a tiger in rut; I think the situation on board Liberator will be more than a little trying by now, especially if that sly computer man is trying to pass out orders also."

Servalan smiled, her sharp, even teeth gleaming in the soft light reflecting around the room. "Blake won't want to take orders from anyone," she remarked. "He likes to see himself as totally in charge."

Travis nodded. "The other man also dislikes taking orders," he responded, grinning again. "One of them must break soon."

"Very well," Servalan said, "but how do we ensure that it is Blake who gets his way and not the other one?"

Travis' gaze swivelled away from his Supreme Commander and on to the cowering Vila, who was unable to escape from the sunbed as both Servalan and Travis were blocking the way. "We  _use_  him," he said, leering at the unfortunate thief.

"But we are already using him," Servalan declared, "So far, Blake has not responded."

Travis' mouth twisted into a sadistic grimace. "Simple," he said. "We torture him--not enough to kill him, only to make him screech as much as possible. That," he added, regarding Vila with a disparaging look, "should be extremely easy. You'll hardly need to touch him."

Vila tried to sit up, banged his head on the edge of the shade, leaned against the wall, yelped as it was very cold in comparison with the sunbed, and then lay down again--there being nowhere else, still, to go. "What about our agreement?" he demanded of Servalan.

"Agreement?" Servalan's eyes were quite blank and cold. "What agreement, traitor?"

Vila groaned. "I should have known, shouldn't I, that you couldn't be trusted!"

"You should indeed," Servalan agreed icily. "Very well, Travis; see to it--and quickly. I too am growing impatient."

Very impatient! Travis thought, as he summoned two guards and ordered them to extricate Vila from the lamp and remove him to the correction chamber. I'll sort out your mess for you, Madam, he mused as he contemplated with sadistic delight the moments to come.

"My clothes!" Vila pleaded as he was hustled off. "I'll get cold."

"No, you won't," Travis sneered. "Oh, my goodness, you certainly won't be cold, fool!"

Vila shuddered, and not only from the sudden difference in temperature.

#

"What's that?" It was Cally, seated at her console and peering in some surprise at her screen.

"Trouble?" Blake was immediately alert, almost thankful for the interruption to his gloomy reverie. He strode across to her and stood behind her, watching also.

"It's a communication from Space Command Headquarters!" Cally exclaimed. "Servalan herself, by the looks of it."

"Who else would dare to approach the famous rebel, Blake?" enquired Avon snidely from the far side of the flight deck, where he was inspecting a minor fault in one of the external relays.

Cally and Blake ignored him. "Put it on the main screen, Zen," Blake commanded. The fascia flickered and cleared, and Servalan's graceful, elegant form appeared. In their various ways, the three members of Liberator's crew reacted, Blake frowned, girding himself for a verbal battle; Cally tightened her lips, irritated and vaguely uneasy; and Avon smiled with wary anticipation.

"Well?" Blake said shortly. "What do you want?"

"No pleasantries?" Servalan asked breathily, "No greetings after such a long silence? What a pity...but there, I can hardly expect sophistication from political criminals, can I? Very well, I'll not waste time either. Blake, I've a short recording for you to listen to; I think you'll find it fascinating--as I did when I first heard it."

Cally sensed before the recording commenced what it would be and clenched her teeth, but even she was taken a back by the scream which assailed her hearing, and the further agonised shrieks and whimperings which followed. It was, indeed, as Servalan had stated, a short recording, but very explicit.

"Enough?" Servalan enquired when it was ended.

For a moment, Blake was too distressed to answer and it was Avon who made response. "Not fascinating," he said coolly. "I'd call it boring. Have you nothing better to do, Servalan?"

The Supreme Commander's gaze moved away from the rebel leader to the dark, remote man who had spoken, and her eyes glittered with sudden interest as she studied him. "You," she murmured, her voice grown sleek with excitement, "are Avon." She recovered herself quickly and returned her thoughts to Vila. "Boring, did you say? Aren't you sorry for your colleague?"

"Why should I be? He took his chances, like the rest of us."

"So cold, so hard," Servalan said silkily. "You should be working for me, Avon, not for a crazed rebel."

"Enough of this," Blake snarled, disgusted by the irrelevant conversation. "Tell us what you want, Servalan."

"Nothing in particular," she said, her lips curving sensuously. "I just thought you'd like to know how your friend is getting on."

The screen blanked abruptly, without warning, and for a moment Cally thought the connection had suffered interference, but a quick check assured her that Servalan had, indeed, cut it herself. "So, what now?" she asked, staring at Blake with pain-filled eyes. "We can't allow any more of that."

"Can't we?" Avon enquired calmly.

"Avon!" Cally turned on him angrily.

"You'd have only to  _show_  Vila a weapon of torture and he'd scream hysterically for several days," Avon said contemptuously. "You can't really imagine they were hurting him."

"They were hurting him," Blake said flatly, and Cally nodded an emphatic agreement. "We can't, in all conscience leave him there any longer."

"A little pain won't do him any harm," Avon said. "They won't kill him--he's too useful to them alive, at the moment."

Cally turned her back on Avon. "I agree," she said to Blake. "We must rescue him. Apart from anything else, the longer we wait, the more tricks  _she_  is likely to think up."

"You are allowing emotion to cloud your judgement, Blake," Avon said, returning his gaze to his work. "You have a mission to attend to on Solon and Cally and I will proceed to the Graz communications satellite."

"You cannot imagine for one moment that we can proceed with those missions now!" Cally exclaimed. "Avon...."

"She's trying to make us go to her," Avon said. "Can't you see it?"

Blake and Cally looked at one another and then Blake nodded slowly. "You are right, Avon--"

"--Of course," Avon's mouth quirked sarcastically.

"Of course," Blake agreed shortly. "Aren't you always?" He glared at Avon but the dark man ignored the sarcasm completely. "Very well," he continued, "we'll allow Servalan to carry on torturing Vila..."

"It may not have been Vila," Avon remarked, "Doubtless she would have many such recordings available."

"I am sure it was Vila," Cally said soberly.

"We'll do as Avon suggests," Blake said, "but we'll change the plan slightly. I intend to ferment such unrest on Solon that Servalan will be forced to intervene, which will serve the dual purpose of assisting the rebellion there and at the same time dragging Servalan out of Space Command Headquarters."

"She'll be surrounded by pursuit ships again," Avon said, "or she may delegate the whole affair to others."

"Not if I am known to be in charge of the rebellion," Blake said. "She has to capture me--she's already put her reputation and her position on the line on that objective as we already know."

"It's a considerable risk," Cally remarked. "The chance of a rebellion succeeding on a planet so close to Space Command is remote. You could well be captured, Blake, or even killed."

"How well he knows it," Avon said unkindly. "He wants to be a martyr, Cally. Don't spoil his fun."

"When you have left me and Gan on Solon," Blake persisted doggedly, "you will set about destroying the communications satellite. I expect you can arrange for Servalan to be assured that I was with you--I don't want her arriving on Solon for some time, certainly not before I am ready for her."

"How about a string of exciting, spectacular and damaging coups?" Avon enquired sardonically, "just to keep us out of mischief while you are away?"

"What a brilliant idea," Blake countered, equally sardonic. "See to it, will you, Avon?"

Avon sighed.

#

 

"Two months and we've heard nothing from Blake," Cally said gloomily. "For all we know he could have been captured--or killed."

"Oh, I doubt it," responded Avon drily. "Blake's hardly mortal, is he?"

Cally determinedly ignored the sarcasm. "I can't understand why he should so completely disappear," she continued. "We can't even trace any signs of the rebellion on Solon being augmented; if anything, it's almost died away."

"That could well be part of his strategy," Jenna interjected. "A long silence, followed by a dramatic explosion of activity, something drastic enough to worry Servalan."

"There's no point in fretting about it," Avon said. "Suppose we plan our next brilliant and devastating coup?"

Jenna smiled broadly. "I reckon we've caused more havoc in the past ten weeks than we had in the previous six months!"

"And Vila," said Cally, "don't forget about him."

Jenna sobered immediately. They had all been subjected to the intermittent communications from Servalan, showing Vila under torture. It was not, as Avon invariably pointed out, the most vicious of torture, not at any time sufficient to damage him for life, let alone kill him, but it was quite enough to make him hysterical. "I wonder," Avon had remarked on one occasion, coolly logical in spite of the miserable scene he had just witnessed, "why Servalan holds back? She's just playing with him."

"Cat and mouse," Jenna had answered. "It amuses her. If he were badly hurt she'd become bored."

"We haven't forgotten about him," Jenna said now, "but we don't seem to be able to do anything much to help him..."

+THE LIBERATOR IS RECEIVING A CODED COMMUNICATION FROM SOLON,+ Zen intoned.

"Decode," Avon snapped, rising to his feet and striding to his console.

+CONFIRMED. MESSAGE READS: 'ALL IN READINESS. PROCEED WITH PLAN. BLAKE.'+

"Right," Avon said, "let's get it over with."

#

 

"Curse him!" Servalan raged as she paced angrily up and down the room.

"It's a trick," Travis said shortly. "Ignore it. Send Caller or Joans to deal with the matter."

"You know I can't!" She turned on him, snarling, "I have to destroy or capture Blake soon or my position will be jeopardy."

"I thought you had some clout with the President."

"I have but..." She ceased pacing suddenly. "How the devil did you know that?"

"Don't worry," Travis smiled slyly. "I haven't been dragging information out of the ever-faithful Riemel. There's a rumour about it in the Terra Nostra that you've discovered the President's--er--interest in it."

"The Terra Nostra does not exist," Servalan said coldly.

Travis laughed. "Of course not," he agreed.

"Hmmmm...So, you have contacts in the Terra Nostra? I suppose that could be useful."

"I have  _now_ ," Travis replied.

"That's that supposed to mean?" Servalan demanded suspiciously. "What have you been up to, Travis?"

Travis' eyes glittered maliciously at her. "Every now and then," he said, "even a Delta half-wit can prove useful."

"You mean Vila?"

"Precisely. Your pet, Vila the thief. He's told me a great deal about the Terra Nostra."

"You'll tell  _me_  everything he said," Servalan commanded.

"Why not?" replied Travis, who had no intention of telling her more than he felt necessary. "You see how useful I am to you, Servalan."

"Naturally." She gestured vaguely towards him. "But this is getting off the subject of Blake."

"Not entirely. I have just received a message from my--contact--that the Terra Nostra have interests on Solon, interests which are being threatened by Blake's interference there, They are prepared to launch an offensive on Blake--but they need help."

" _Your_  help?"

" _Our_  help," Travis amended smoothly, "through me; obviously you can't be seen to associate with the Terra Nostra."

"Nor can you while you are a Commander in my fleet."

"Don't worry, Supreme Commander. I have the contacts. All you have to do is agree the plan, which is simple enough. The Terra Nostra's agents will enforce obedience from the Solonese officials they control--and there are a good many of those, needless to say. The result will be civil war. It makes little difference whether the military sides with the Administration or the rebels since your forces will intervene at precisely the right moment and take over while the Terra Nostra's--er--friends are keeping Blake occupied. Most important of all, Blake has been in contact with one of the Terra Nostra's puppets so we now have some idea of what he has been doing recently and what he intends."

"We know what he's been doing," Servalan said. "He's been causing havoc, leading us a fine dance."

"No, Supreme Commander. He's been on Solon for two whole months. Whatever Liberator has been doing, it's without Blake's presence."

"I must admit," Servalan mused, "that there were times when I felt Blake was acting just a little out of character. I suppose we have to assume that the devious Avon has been in charge."

"There can be no doubt of it. Now--have I your permission to co-operate with the Terra Nostra on Solon?"

Servalan smiled and resumed her pacing, but calmly now. "Of course you have," she breathed. "You may bring me Blake's head--on a platter!"

"By all means," Travis agreed. "It will be a pleasure."

 

#

 

"I can't understand what went wrong," Blake declared gloomily. "I seem to have misjudged Servalan totally, yet I would have sworn--"

"She's merely outmanoeuvred you," Avon remarked nastily. "Be thankful you weren't captured; you should have been, and but for the teleport you would have been."

"I know," Blake muttered ruefully, with a glance at his injured leg stretched out before him. "Do you want me to say I'm grateful?"

"No. I want you to offer some explanation for your failure."

"I can't. Of course there was always the chance that Servalan would stay in her hole and send Travis after me. What worries me is the fact that the rebellion simply folded up, disintegrated before my eyes..."

"I'm of the opinion that the reason isn't important," Jenna interjected. "We've tried one way and failed. It's a pity we didn't manage to help Solon at the same time but there's no point in wailing about it now. We still have to rescue Vila."

"If Blake can't get Servalan out of Space Command, what else--or who else--might?" Cally queried.

"Only a direct command from the Supreme Council, I'd suggest," said Jenna with a broad grin.

"There you are!" Gan beamed at Blake, not joking at all. "Isn't it possible to fake something'?"

"The likelihood," Avon commenced, sneering, "is so remote as to be..." He paused, then also smiled. "On the other hand," he continued, "we have amassed quite a considerable amount of data on Federation communications satellites, in this area, haven't we?" His eyes swivelled to Blake's, and his smile widened. "We'll lure her to some convenient rendezvous and then kill her," he said.

"That's it!" Blake tried to leap to his feet, yelped with pain as his injured foot hit the ground and then fell back in his seat. "A false message," he continued more calmly, "but so convincing that she won't suspect for a moment...Avon?"

"I'm sure," Avon said sardonically, "that you are undoubtedly the best qualified to formulate the message, Blake. I'll merely ensure that it reaches Servalan."

"You've a satellite in mind?"

"Certainly. KZ12 would be the ideal candidate for a little tampering. We'd ignored it because there were other more strategic targets but it is reasonably easy to approach and with luck we could plant the message without arousing suspicion. If we're discovered, we could still destroy it and try again elsewhere."

"Very well," said Blake. "Jenna, set a course for KZ12, Standard by six."

"And if this fails," said Avon, the Voice of Doom as always, "what then?"

"Suppose  _you_  think of something?" Blake suggested. "You are, after all, so clever, aren't you?"

#

"You really are the most confusing person," Vila declared, wiggling his toes luxuriously as he lounged on a couch at the side of Servalan's private swimming pool. "One minute you are allowing that loathesome Travis to torture me in the most appallingly excruciating fashion and the next you're treating me like an honoured guest. I can't make head nor tail of it."

"It's simple enough," Servalan responded as she towelled herself dry. "You are a useful prisoner but at the same time you are--shall I say amusing?"

"In what way amusing?" Vila demanded suspiciously. "Performing bear amusing, do you mean?"

"Not at all. You entertain me and I like to be entertained."

"No one on Liberator ever calls me entertaining," Vila said plaintively. "Either I'm a 'nuisance' or they ignore my jokes--they are good jokes, aren't they?--or of course if there's a lock to be opened I suddenly become incredibly useful."

"They don't appreciate you, Vila," Servalan smiled, slipping on a long, dark robe. "Didn't I tell you you'd be far better off with me?"

"If you could just see your way to restraining Travis a little...."

"Now that I can't do. You see, Travis has a mission---to kill Blake--and I really can't interfere between a man and his mission, can I?"

"You could," Vila muttered sulkily. "I don't like being tortured, you know."

"He doesn't torture you very much, Vila, just enough to make you howl. After all, we don't want to kill you, do we?"

"I think Travis does. In fact, I think he will if he does catch Blake."

"Don't worry," Servalan soothed. "I shan't let him. Now and again I too want locks opened."

"Not as often as Blake does, I'll warrant," Vila grinned. "Look, I can't see why you need recordings of  _me_  being tortured. Don't you have enough of other people that you could use? For one thing, they might be more imaginative than me when it comes to degrees of screaming."

"They might--indeed some of them are; but I don't want Blake being disappointed because he can't hear  _your_  dulcet tones, Vila. I'm sure he'd notice the difference."

"Hang my dulcet tones," Vila exclaimed, losing control for a moment. "I'm sick of being Travis' plaything, and I'm sick of being nice to you when it doesn't get me anywhere. I didn't enjoy being with Blake all that much--in fact, I was terrified most of the time--but at least he didn't go in for physical torture!"

"Just mental torture?" Servalan suggested sweetly.

"Yeah." Vila relaxed a little and leaned back again on the couch. "I guess you could call it mental torture, especially Avon's brand of humour. He really is..."

"Repulsive?" Servalan suggested as she seated herself beside Vila. "That's not quite the word. Not repulsive. A bit terrifying, perhaps--like you."

"And Blake isn't terrifying?"

"Of course not. He's decent enough when he isn't forcing me into some awful scheme or other."

"'Decent' sounds a little boring," Servalan drawled. "I think your terrifying friend sounds more my type of adversary, don't you?"

"I'm sure you're right," Vila said fervently.

"We'll leave Blake to Travis, shall we," Servalan continued, "and I will rid you of Avon? How's that?"

"Marvelous," Vila said, "just marvelous." Although, he thought to himself, I might be just as relieved if Avon were to rid me of  _you_. When it comes to it, I don't like any of you--not one little bit. All I want is to be left in peace.

#

"Where?" said Servalan, faintly surprised.

"Gallus, Supreme Commander."

Servalan frowned over the star map showing on her screen, then shrugged and rose gracefully to her feet. "Why not?" she remarked casually. I suppose it's not so far from the Shadow plantations. I can quite see why he needs to keep the rendezvous secret."

"Why should he want to visit the plantations?" Travis frowned. "The risk...."

"Oh, I don't think he'll visit them, Space Commander. One must assume Gallus is a convenient and seemingly innocent location for a meeting with the Terra Nostra. What I need to know is why he wants me there?"

"It's probably a trap. You know too much."

"On the other hand, I control Space Command, hence he can't risk angering me. I shall go, Travis, because I want to find out what he's up to."

"You know what they say about curiosity, Servalan."

"I do indeed, but," Servalan smiled, "I am no ordinary cat, Travis."

"While you are gallivanting with the President, what of that whining fool Vila?"

"Just carry on with the strategy. In the end, Blake will lose patience and come here to get him."

"If Blake finds out you are tripping across to Gallus, he may conceive the idea of getting you instead."

"One way or another," Servalan said, "we must ensure that he doesn't. Heavens, Travis, I am Supreme Commander of the most powerful fleet the Terran Federation has ever known. Why should I be afraid of one rebel, lucky though he's been so far?"

"Go to your meeting, then," Travis said, "but be warned: if Blake captures you, I may not be able to save you. There's no real reason to assume that he'd give you up in exchange mere}y for the stupid thief."

"I think he would," Servalan replied. "As you've said yourself, more than once, Blake is loyal, Vila is one of his own, and indeed, we're basing our strategy on that factor."

"I know--but you are such a prize. With you in his power, Blake could influence the President himself."

"On the other hand," Servalan countered thoughtfully, "it's not likely that the President's link with the Terra Nostra is known to Blake. My mind is made up, Travis. I shall go to the rendezvous."

#

"Damn it!" Blake raged. "Of course I can manage. Cally, this is important."

"So is your future," Cally said firmly. "What use will you be confined to a wheelchair? Or do you want a false limb?"

"It won't come to that. There won't be much need for me to walk."

"There might," Cally retorted. "You see yourself as a leader of the revolution against tyranny. Now suppose you see yourself as a cripple. Think about it, Blake!"

"I am responsible for Vila," Blake said. "I have to go to Gallus."

"You don't  _have_  to go," Avon's acid tones interrupted. "It's merely that you want, as usual, to be heroic."

"Very well!" Blake turned on the other man furiously. "You go!  _You_  show some human emotion for once.  _You_  save Vila from that fiendish woman."

"Well, why not?" Avon smiled thinly. "I suppose it could be amusing to meet the dazzling Servalan." He caught a look of disgust on Cally's face and smiled more broadly. "Are you sure you don't want me to kill her?" he queried.

Blake sighed. "You know the plan," he said. "Do you think you could bring yourself to stick to it?"

The ship's intercom blipped and Avon responded. "Well?"

"We've reached Gallus," Jenna said. "It's time for Blake to go down."

"Blake isn't going," Avon responded coolly. "I am." He glanced across at Blake. "You could operate the teleport," he remarked. "You may at least do that sitting down!"

 

#

 

"The President is expecting me," Servalan announced to the figure on her screen. "Has he arrived yet?"

"No, Supreme Commander, but we are advised that his ship will land within thirty minutes. Would you care to land and wait for him?"

"I will advise you in a moment," Servalan replied and flipped off the communicator. "We wait," she said to her pilot. "I want to be sure he is there before I go down."

She paced the flight deck restlessly until the communicator sprang to life again, and breathed a sigh of relief as the expected announcement came. Fifteen minutes later, her ship was aground and she was preparing to leave it, but again she hesitated. "Where is the President's ship?" she demanded of Ground Control.

"In Docking Bay Ten," came the reply. Servalan glanced questioningly at her pilot.

"We are in Docking Bay One," the pilot responded.

"Contact the President's ship!" Servalan snapped, her suspicion rising. "I want to talk to the pilot. I want to know why it didn't register on our screens."

"Don't bother."

The voice was acid, sensual and familiar. Servalan swung round and gasped as she saw the dark man standing in a corner of the flight deck. "What the devil...? Avon!"

His eyes were glittering with wicked admiration yet were strangely cold and in spite of her strength of will she shivered slightly. "Avon," he agreed softly. "You'll know of me."

It was a statement, not a question. Servalan's eyes widened as she understood and the gleam of reciprocal admiration in her own eyes turned swiftly to rage. "Blake's henchman!" she snarled.

"Not the description I'd choose," Avon said, "but it will do for the moment, no doubt. Your ship, Servalan, is now under my command. Get rid of your crew."

"What?"

"Get rid of your crew," Avon repeated. "Send them off the ship--or I shall kill them. Which do you prefer?"

Seething, Servalan gestured to her pilot and Riemel. "Well?" she said to them. "Which do  _you_  prefer?"

"No tricks," Avon said coldly as the two men passed behind Servalan on their way out. "One slip from either of you and you will have no mistress to save. Got it?"

Servalan stared after them furiously. "I might have known it was a trap," she snarled.

Avon smiled at her. "You should indeed. Do you mean to tell me you never suspected?"

Damn you! Servalan thought. And damn me for drawing the wrong conclusion completely! "Your success has been too easy," she remarked. "I suppose one of you had a gun on the Ground Control crew...Well, what do you want of me?"

"Ah!" Avon's eyes were glittering again. "But we'll discuss that later." He raised his bracelet to his lips. "Blake, I have her."

"Good," came Blake's response. "Cally is coming down."

Within a moment, Cally had appeared and snapped a bracelet on Servalan's wrist, and within another moment all three were in the teleport section of the Liberator. "So kind of you to call," Blake remarked sardonically as Servalan moved towards him.

"A pleasure," Servalan retorted viciously. "Shall we have tea and cakes?"

"Cream for the cat?" Avon suggested from behind her. "Move, Servalan..."

They went in a procession to the flight deck, Blake's wheelchair bringing up the rear. On the flight deck, Jenna was waiting for them. "So you brought her back?" she remarked slyly to Avon. "We had bets on whether you would--or whether you'd make off with her into the blue."

"Space," Avon murmured, "isn't blue."

Jenna laughed. "Perhaps she wouldn't have wanted you?" she suggested.

Avon turned his back on her.

Blake swung his chair round in front of Servalan. "You know what we want," he said flatly. "No arguments, Servalan; you know how easy it will be for us to kill you."

"The thief?" Servalan purred. "By all means--since I have little choice but to surrender him now. All the same, I'm inclined to suggest you check whether he wants to return to you. I have been making him more than welcome."

" _Vila_?" Jenna demanded in amazement. "You can't be serious. He is a moron."

"And you," Servalan smiled, "are a fool. His grading is, to say the least, curious."

"Vila's grading is neither here nor there at the moment," Blake flashed. He had a distinct sensation that he was losing control of the situation and set out to impress his authority again. "You'll signal your headquarters that he is to be released. Have him taken to Arcol Ill. Once we've collected him, you will be free to go."

"Don't be stupid, Blake!" Avon snarled. "We can get more out of her than that."

"We will, don't worry," Blake responded shortly. "For a start, I want to know the truth of what happened on Solon."

"Are you going to torture  _me_?" Servalan enquired sweetly.

 

#

 

"Where's Avon?" Cally enquired. "I haven't seen him around for hours."

"He's interrogating Servalan." Jenna's voice was cool but there was a distinct sparkle of amusement in her eyes.

"Really?" There was no amusement whatsoever in Cally's response. "Alone?"

"I don't know. Blake went down with him originally but I'm none too sure he's still there."

"Leaving Avon alone with Servalan would be pretty foolish," Cally remarked, suppressing what she felt was an irrational annoyance at the idea. "That woman could well subvert someone so...so...."

"Avon's hard," Jenna replied. "She can't touch him unless...."

"Unless it's what he wants."

"Yes...Cally...." Jenna hesitated, frowning. "I know he's not committed to Blake's cause," she continued after a moment, "but I'm not sure that he'd betray Blake; at least, not directly. He does have a code of honour."

"Of a sort," Cally muttered sarcastically.

"You're being unduly hard on him. That's not like you." Jenna glanced across at the other woman with raised eyebrows. "What's the matter? Jealous?"

Cally stared back at the pilot. "Is it likely?" she enquired tartly. "No, I think perhaps it is something more akin to fear. Can you imagine what might happen if Servalan were able to persuade Avon to join her?"

"We'd be rid of him," Jenna grinned. "That's not such a bad idea, is it?"

"It's one thing," Cally responded, "to have him leave...but quite another to have him join Servalan--against us."

"But Avon's not interested in politics, only money. Why should he join her?"

"He might--if she made a good enough offer, and Servalan has the resources to do just that."

"Even so."

"Avon's more ruthless than any of us, you know that. If he were committed to destroying us, don't you think he's the one person who might be able to succeed where others have failed. He knows us all so well, he knows the Liberator, and in spite of all the arguments with Blake, they're close in a strange kind of way; he'd almost be able to read Blake's mind, to guess our plans. We can't afford to lose him."

"Have you discussed this with Blake?" Jenna asked. "You could just be--forgive me--over-reacting?"

"I haven't talked to him yet," Cally replied soberly, "but I can sense his unease. I believe he's as afraid as I am that Avon will desert us."

"It could be," Jenna said, "that is why he is leaving Avon alone with Servalan-- _if_  he is--just in the hope that the more he sees of her and talks to her the less he'll like the prospect of an alliance with her. The question must be: who is the cleverer--Blake or Servalan?"

"That," Cally replied, "also worries me. She's so devious, and Blake is not."

At that Jenna laughed out loud. "Don't you believe it," she said. "He's devious; see, he's had you fooled as well. Do you wonder Avon argues with him? He knows it and yet he can't accept that side of Blake's personality!"

"He should," Cally retorted. "He's devious enough, himself."

"Perhaps he thinks it doesn't suit the Galaxy's Great White Hope!"

Cally shook her head in bewilderment. "We have to keep Avon with us," she said, thrusting aside the issue of Blake's personality determinedly. "How do we do it?"

"You could," said a calm voice behind her, "simply leave it to his good judgement." Blake walked on to the flight deck awkwardly, leaning on a stick.

"So you  _have_  left him alone with her!" Cally exclaimed. "Blake, that is criminal."

"No." Blake struggled to a seat and sank down on to it thankfully. "He's fascinated by her and he won't be satisfied until he knows her. Don't you think that thwarting his--er--natural instincts--would be rather unwise?"

"Where Servalan's concerned, I think getting near her at all is unwise. And furthermore, why haven't you sent that message to release Vila?"

"Vila's probably safe enough where he is," Blake replied with a faint smile. "They'll be treating him like an honoured guest, I think, just at the moment."

"Travis could kill him as a reprisal."

"He could," Blake agreed gravely, "but I should then kill Servalan. I think Travis will understand that perfectly well, don't you? As you know, Servalan has already warned him to behave himself; she doesn't want to die--and that's our strongest card."

"Servalan isn't the stuff martyrs are made of," Jenna agreed. "I can't think of anyone more keen to save their own skin."

"Precisely," Blake said, "and that's why I'm interrogating her. She's brave and tough and as sly as a cat, but when it comes to it she isn't going to die if she can help it."

"Has she actually given you any information?"

"Some. Apparently an organisation called the Terra Nostra found out about our plans on Solon and advised the Federation. They must have had spies in our group."

"More likely business contacts," Jenna remarked. "One of your group could well have been working for them--or rather, been forced to work for them."

"You know of the Terra Nostra?" Blake enquired.

"Yes. It's a secret criminal organisation, but widespread and dangerous. Its aim is to further its own power--at any cost."

"Power? It seems to be at the root of nearly all the evils in this galaxy," Cally said sadly. "Do you think the future will be any different, Blake, even if you destroy the Federation?"

"How can I know?" Blake replied. "All I can do is try."

#

"You are supposed to be interrogating me," Servalan remarked to Avon who was sitting opposite her and regarding her in thoughtful silence.

Avon smiled. "I am," he replied. "I am assessing your personality."

"Do you think you understand me?"

Avon's eyes glittered. "I think I understand what I need to know. I'm not concerned with the rest."

"And what do you  _need_  to know?" She rose to her feet and began to pace around the small room. "Are you pleased with whatever you have discovered?"

"I need to know what you have in mind for me," he replied, "and, yes, I could, be pleased with what I have discovered."

"Do tell me," she breathed, fascinated. "Perhaps I'll tell you if you are right."

Avon's smile disappeared abruptly. "Oh no," he said softly, menace now in his gaze, "this isn't a dialogue, Servalan. I ask the questions and you give the answers."

She walked away from him to hide the anger in her face. He had for a moment appeared vulnerable, yet had immediately slid away from her. Why is it, she raged, that I cannot trap you, Avon? I know you find me desirable, and I believe you have guessed long since that I will give a great deal to capture your allegiance, so what is holding you back? Surely not loyalty to Blake? I can see well enough the antagonism between you and your companion in crime: there's no love lost there. She swung back towards the dark man and smiled into his impassive face, forcing her mouth and her eyes to a tenderness which masked the frustration and rage she felt. "So ask," she said. "You have such a way with you, Avon--I might even give you answers."

"Tell me about the Terra Nostra," he said.

It was not the question she had expected. The Terra Nostra had not seemed an important issue to her, apart from its link with Solon and she was sure she had explained that satisfactorily. "I know nothing about it," she replied, "except that I was contacted by an anonymous informer who professed to be connected with it. What more can I say?"

"Think of something," he suggested.

"Why do you want to know? So far as I am aware, it is a criminal organisation but so secret that its name is rarely mentioned even on Earth where it originated. Rumour has it that it works amongst Earth's Deltas and helps the Security Forces to keep control of that unstable class. That is all I can tell you. Indeed, I would have thought you would know more than I, given your--er--criminal background."

Avon's smile returned. "Why yes," he said, "I had heard of it--but only as a myth. My--er--criminal background was very narrow."

"Perhaps you would have been of more interest to the Terra Nostra if your swindle had been successful?" Servalan suggested.

Avon nodded a little absently. His interest in the Terra Nostra was purely practical: he cared nothing for its rumoured brutalities, nor for what might have been. "Do you believe," he queried now, "that it exists?"

"I was contacted by an agent..."

"I know--but do you believe it exists, nonetheless?"

Servalan pretended to consider and then, for once, answered honestly:

"Yes," she said. But don't ask me, she thought, if it controls the Federation. I need to keep that information entirely to myself, to further my own ambitions.

"Tell me about Vila," Avon said.

The sudden change of subject startled her again. "What is there to tell?" she queried. "Surely Blake has asked all there is to ask?"

"You seem to find him--amenable. Why? What have we missed?" Avon's smile became thin, rather cold. "What charms does he possess that none of us can see?"

Servalan laughed, This was, she thought, safe ground. She was willing to discuss almost anything with Avon except battle strategy and the Terra Nostra. "I think you see them," she said, "but they just don't happen to appeal to your sex!"

"They don't seem to appeal to Jenna and Cally either," Avon retorted. "Do you really think him worth keeping?"

"Perhaps you really do undervalue him?" Servalan suggested casually. "Yes, I can see many uses for him. His wit amuses me, and his more practical skills might come in useful."

"I'll admit his practical skills," Avon said. "He is a genius at his own chosen profession, which is partly why we want him here...but wit? I'm not so sure about that."

"Poor Vila, surrounded by such chill, humourless individuals," Servalan said nastily. "I don't wonder he wants to stay with me. I find his company relaxing."

"Amazing," Avon said, his eyes widening with apparent disbelief.

Suddenly Servalan laughed again. "I think it suits you to tease him," she said. "Avon, that is not kind of you."

"What point is there in being kind?" Avon enquired. "If I were kind to Vila he would trade on my weakness. As it is, he seeks my admiration--and I give it when it is deserved. We understand one another, Servalan."

Her eyes were thoughtful. "You should be wary," she said, "or you may lose him altogether. Vila is not self--sufficient, Avon; he needs friends."

"I know," Avon said, "but is it going to be you--or us?"

"I suspect it will be you," Servalan said. "I want to get back to my Headquarters, Avon. Isn't it time you ceased this delightful but rather trivial conversation and rescued him before Travis kills him?"

Avon smiled at her with genuine admiration, "He won't--and you know it, and even if he does, we shan't kill you in reprisal, no matter what Blake says...because if Travis disobeys you, you'll not rest until he is dead. Isn't that so?"

"Oh yes. How clever of you, Avon, to see it. Are you suggesting that you want to goad Travis into killing Vila, so that I shall then destroy Travis and save Blake the trouble?"

"It's a possible strategy," Avon said. "You see, I don't think Blake will ever kill Travis--not face to face, He can't quite bring himself to do it."

"It makes no difference to me," Servalan said, "Very well, I'll wait a little, and when Vila is dead--for I am sure Travis would happily kill him eventually, out of sheer frustration--I'll do Blake's job for him."

"There's only one problem with that neat little plot," Avon continued disarmingly. "Now that you know what I have in mind, you  _wouldn't_  kill Travis, would you? He's too useful to you! Perhaps we'll kill you after all."

Servalan's mouth set into a hard line. She had, indeed, been well and truly tricked and did not like it at all. "Oh, I'll get you one of these days, that's for sure!" she snarled.

"Well now, that's a change of heart," Avon remarked with a grin. "I thought you were just about to offer me a consortship--when you become President. I am  _so_  disappointed."

"Get out!" she snarled. "Just get out! Send my message to have Vila freed and let's be done with it." Avon went, laughing.

"Well, well," Jenna said when he emerged on to the flight deck shortly afterwards, "have you actually escaped from that woman unscathed?"

Avon treated the remark with the contempt he felt it deserved.

 

#

 

"You aren't treating me right," Vila whined, cringing away from Travis. "Servalan wouldn't allow you to bully me."

"Servalan isn't here," Travis grated. "Servalan was stupid enough to get herself caught by Blake in spite of all my warnings. At the moment, I am in charge and don't you forget it."

"I won't, I won't," Vila promised fervently. "All I'm asking is that you don't knock me about..."

"I'll do just what I damn well please," Travis snapped. Servalan's message, transmitted from the Liberator, that he should not injure the thief had infuriated him and at times it was all he could do to keep himself from throttling the prisoner who now cowered before him; but at least he had been able to remove all Vila's privileges and to fling him into a cheerless, windowless cell. "Just you remember," Travis continued in threatening tones, "that I don't have to keep you alive. If I choose to kill you, I will."

"Servalan..." Vila commenced anxiously.

Travis leered horribly and raised a fist. "She'll survive," he said. "You see, I don't believe they'll kill her. I don't believe Blake has the guts."

"Avon has," Vila said. "He'd do it if it suits him--and how do you know what might or might not suit, eh?"

"A fight between Avon and Blake might not be a bad idea," Travis remarked, his bad humour receding slightly. "In fact, it might be just what we want. Divide Liberator's crew and then pounce on them while they're in confusion."

"You're wasting your time thinking on those lines," Vila declared, simulating a confidence he did not quite feel.

"You see," Travis continued, "I  _know_  Servalan, and I'm grateful to you, thief, for giving me an idea of what she might just be up to. If you're suggesting--as you seem to be suggesting--that Avon and Blake aren't the best of friends, then all she has to do is get Avon on her side."

Vila groaned inwardly. Oh no, he thought dismally, I didn't want you to think of something like that--yet it is just what might happen. Just suppose she made him an offer for her freedom that was so good he just couldn't resist it...? Not that it would make all that much difference to me, though, he added to himself, cheering up a little, seeing that I was getting on so well with Servalan...She'd probably look after me, wouldn't she? Well-- _wouldn't_  she? I wish I knew!

"One thing's for sure," Travis added, with another gruesome leer, "I am going to kill you eventually, you foul little runt." He gave Vila a shove and laughed as Vila crashed to the ground, striking his shoulder painfully on the edge of his bunk. "Go on!" Travis jeered. "Stand up for yourself, lout. Fight me! Show you've got some guts after all."

Vila lay still, determined not to show a hint of defiance in case it provoked another attack, and after a few moment's Travis departed, sniggering to himself. That's it, Vila thought, as he finally dragged himself to his feet and massaged his injured shoulder gloomily, I can't take any more of this. He really means it, I know he does: he'll kill me somehow before Servalan returns. She  _may_  be annoyed with him, but that's all. He'll pretend it was an accident and she'll say 'What a shame!' and then forget I ever existed. There's only one thing for it, I shall have to escape. Sitting on his bunk, he racked his brains for a plan. He had not seriously considered escape before, except in the early days before Servalan had shown him some favour. All his tools had long since been taken from him except one small probe which even Servalan's experts had not noticed. It was not, Vila knew, adequate to deal with the complicated and powerful lock on the cell but at least it would give him some idea of the lock's structure and perhaps Fate (Vila believed strongly in Fate) would come up with something... "Well, it's got to, hasn't it?" Vila mused to himself as he forced down the unappetising protein and vitamin substitutes served up to him as a so--called evening meal. "Otherwise, I'll never get out of here. Hang it, I'm  _not_  going to die!"

Next morning, it appeared that Fate did indeed have some concern for him, for with his tasteless and unpleasantly--textured (slimy, Vila would have said) 'breakfast' came a guard who was less unfriendly than most. He hesitated for a moment after dumping the dish on Vila's bench, and passed a few civil words. Vila sidled close, chatting disarmingly as only he knew how when concentrating on his profession, and when the guard departed he was minus two apparently inoffensive items from his pocket--a one-credit piece and a metal comb.

Carefully, and with infinite patience, Vila set to work. A minute inspection of his cell had revealed a fine metal edge--fortunately out of sight of the spycam. Vila sang loudly, clattered his feet on the ground, or grumbled interminably, all to distract from the sounds of his task. Hours passed as he alternated work with other, innocent activity in sight of the spycam, and he was thankful that Travis apparently had no urge to visit and goad him for once. By the end of the day, he had produced what he required--a laughably simple means to get through the door--"Always supposing, of course," he murmured to himself under his breath, "my kind friend is on duty again tomorrow morning and lets me get within reach of the door! Though what I am going to do when I get outside, the devil only knows...." Inevitably, it was partly that kind of uncertainty which had deterred him from trying to escape before.

Morning came again and also his 'friend.' This time Vila kept away from him but cracked some extremely dirty jokes while wandering innocently towards the door. He was called back peremptorily, but not before he had managed to slide his 'laughably simple means' into the edge of the lock mechanism. There we are, my beauty, he thought with an inward grin, I'll be out of here in no time.

The guard departed and Vila waited patiently until the breakfast period was over, thankful for once that his top security status did not allow him to mix with other prisoners in the communal areas. When he had finally and nervously decided that it was a propitious moment, he moved across to the door, and produced his little probe.

The one-credit slip of plastic, attached to a thin metal thread, had effectively deactivated several parts of the lock without sounding an alarm. The probe was sufficiently sophisticated to deactivate the rest and within five minutes the lock was under Vila's control. The only question now, he thought, is whether I'm still going through with this...? Gathering up all his courage, which was considerably more than he usually allowed his companions on Liberator to see, he opened the door and poked out his head. All clear...and he flitted like a shadow down the corridor to the main security door at the end of the cell section. Inevitably, it was closed, but that was no problem to Vila. He slid into a corner and waited for someone to pass through. Eventually someone came, and the door stood open for a few moments while the guard glanced through the spyholes into a couple of cells. When the guard turned back to the door, Vila was gone.

Through the door, Vila had fallen flat on his face and had edged his way under some furniture, benches and the like used by guards on duty. Crawling like a snake, he had slowly crept along until there was no more cover, and then he rose to his feet and ran on his toes as fast and silently as only a thief knew how. Eminently suited to escaping from unhealthy places, Vila quickly reached the main Command Centre, where he knew that his only hope of escape was to seize the uniform of a Guard. Hence he lay in wait.

Again, he was lucky. (Well, he thought, in, passing, I'm due for a bit of luck, aren't I?). A guard came close and Vila followed him. The guard proceeded through a door to what turned out to be a washroom and Vila grinned delightedly. What better chance could there be? And when the guard removed his helmet, Vila nearly laughed out loud as he sneaked up behind the guard and reached for his holster. At the guard's most vulnerable moment, Vila slugged him with his own gun. Swiftly, he donned the uniform, thankful that it fitted reasonably well, then abandoned his usual indolent slouch and walked briskly outside, locking the door behind him and jamming it so that it would take some time to open by any conventional means.

Vila had seen enough of the Command Centre and its workings while Servalan's 'honoured guest' to have some idea of its layout and the kind of responses a guard on urgent, official business should make. He passed through the Centre easily enough, barking "Urgent despatch for Commander Travis" to anyone who challenged him, and knowing that it would not be easy for any guard to delay anything that related to Travis without fear of reprisal. Finally, he reached the Spaceport and there, for the first time, he was totally at a loss for the simple truth was that he had not the least idea how to get any further. All he could do. was wait on events. He had so arranged things in his cell that he would not be bothered there by anyone except Travis until the next mealtime, so he could expect a little more unheralded freedom yet. He parked himself by a doorway, took up a suitably watchful and threatening attitude, and waited for Fate to intervene again. And while he waited, he took the opportunity, while no one seemed to be watching, to inspect the contents of his pockets and discover just who he was meant to be. 'Trooper Beket' appeared to be his name, of B Company; there was nothing else of interest in the clothing, apart from a few credits.

 

#

 

"Damnation!" Travis cursed furiously, pacing the cell. "How did he do it, without tools?"

"We can investigate, Space Commander," Riemel said, anxious to please Servalan's dangerous deputy.

"Later. First we have to find him. In fact, we  _must_  find him!" This, Travis thought furiously, is all I want! A message from Servalan to release the little runt and now we can't find him...not that I want to release him, seeing that I have sworn to kill him, but I need him to bargain with until Servalan is safe...Or should I let her die? It's a possibility, but the only problem is that I can't trust Blake to kill her; in fact, I'm damned sure he won't and wouldn't even if I were to tell him I had strangled the runt with my bare hands. There's only one thing for it: we go without the thief and lay a trap for Blake...

"Listen," he said more calmly, "leave the search to the guards. The thief won't get far--he's too much of a coward to take any risks. Now this is what we are going to do...."

 

#

 

Twenty minutes later, an announcement came over the intercom and Vila's heart lifted, with both excitement and a degree of terror: "B Company to Commanding Officer, Duty Room, at the double!" By sheer good fortune, Vila knew where to go and he ran with the rest.

There's trouble, men," the C.O. announced to the assembled guards. "A prisoner on the loose, and a sly one at that, name of Vila Restal...Yes, you've been aware of him in the past, I think; friend of the Supreme Commander--on and off..." Someone sniggered, received a sharp glare, and subsided. "He won't have gone far--in fact, we suspect he's holed up in one of the washrooms. However, that's not  _our_  concern: it's being dealt with by A Company. We've another mission, and you've ten minutes--not a moment longer--to ready yourselves. Be ready--and on board Transport Seventeen...."

Hell! Vila thought. Where are they going? Still, it's a way off this cursed place so I'll have to go. I only hope no one notices I'm not Beket!

#

On the way to the barracks, following the rest of the Company, Vila had a fearful thought and only a self--discipline that he had not even known he possessed kept him walking onwards, They are going to get into that washroom, he thought, panicking mildly, and they are going to find Beket, and if I go on board as Beket they'll know it's not Beket but me...and if they don't know before I get on board, they'll certainly know while I'm trapped on there with a whole company of hostile Federation guards....

So, Vila realised, there was nothing for it but to change identity again, but this time he was more careful to hide his traces. His unfortunate victim was slaughtered in a dark corridor of the barracks blessedly out of sight of anyone else, Vila pulled the trigger regretfully and with sincere, even abject apologies, after he had first coshed and then undressed the man. I am getting tired, he thought gloomily as he dragged on the clothing, of other people's garments...He had chosen the place well, and again had thanked Fate for intervening, for the corridor led to an incinerator shute. Vila shoved the man down it, still apologising quite profusely, and then he ran, along with the rest of 13 Company, to the Transport. They tumbled on board, the hatches closed, and the ship lifted off almost immediately. None of them had any idea where they were going, or why. They merely obeyed orders and hoped to survive.

#

"Arcol III," Jenna said. "Looks a pleasant enough place."

"It's neutral," Blake responded. "That's what matters. I've obtained the Prime Minister's agreement to co--operate in the exchange, which is to take place on the planet itself. All we have to do now is wait until Vila arrives."

"I hope," Avon murmured acidly, "that you can trust  _these_  people. After your--er--little misjudgement on Solon...."

"That was not my misjudgement!" Blake snarled. "That was the interference of a factor which I could not have foreseen. Until then I hadn't even known that the Terra Nostra really existed. I believed it was a myth--a Delta joke. Vila's never talked of it, you know."

"Why should he?" Avon taunted. "You wouldn't have been interested in the little difficulties he might have had with the Terra Nostra in the past."

"Are you telling me that  _you_  knew the organisation? Have you dealt with them?"

"Neither," Avon said, "except that I suspected that their existence was not a myth but a reality, I never had cause to come up against them."

"Still," Blake continued, "this is all beside the point at the moment. The Prime Minister, Gillatt, is vouched for by Avalon, and whilst I know one should not be complacent, I believe this place is as safe as any within Federation range. Damn it, Avon, we have to go somewhere."

"I know it," Avon said shortly. "So what's the rest of the plan?"

"Gillatt will tell us when Vila has arrived, then we will teleport down to collect him. Naturally, we will have to take Servalan with us."

"Think you are up to it, do you?" Avon enquired, with a glance at Blake's still shaky leg.

"I'm going this time," Blake retorted. "After all, I shan't have to do anything much."

"You don't have to do anything to get yourself shot," Avon said under his breath, and Blake looked at him sharply, uncertain what he had said but aware that it was not complimentary.

 

#

 

Three days later, the message came that Travis had arrived. The Liberator was in geostationary orbit around another planet of the system, well out of the route Travis should take to reach Arcol III. In accordance with the agreement--an agreement which Blake knew only too well Travis might not keep if he chose to be difficult--Blake moved the ship up to Arcol III, keeping on the opposite side of the planet to Travis' ship.

"I don't like it," Jenna declared, suspicious as always when within reach of Travis, "He probably has pursuit ships just out of range."

"I know," Blake responded, "but what can I do? We must rescue Vila. I've already warned him that there will be trouble--that I may not return Servalan--if we so much as smell a pursuit ship, but we could still be caught on the hop. It's up to you, Jenna, to ensure that we aren't."

"You must collect Vila as quickly as possible," Jenna insisted. "No convivial chats with Servalan--make sure Avon doesn't drool over her--and no arguments with Travis. Just slap a bracelet on Vila and get up here immediately."

"Don't worry, I won't even speak to Travis if I can avoid it," Blake soothed, "Now it's time for the final checks before we go down."

Blake entered into a brief conversation with Arcol's Premier who gave the necessary assurances that Travis and Vila were alone on the planet waiting for him, and then walked with Avon and Servalan to the teleport section, with Gan following to operate the controls. "Put us down," Blake said and instants later they were in the agreed meeting place.

The moment they materialised, they found themselves face to face with three Federation guards, and in front of them stood Travis. He was not clothed in his usual dark uniform, but in civilian clothes. Beside him was another Space Commander--or so it seemed.

"It's a trap!" Avon snarled, guessing before Blake what was happening. "Vila isn't here...Travis has taken his place. Gan! Get us up-- _now_!" As he spoke, he snatched at Servalan's wrist, wrenching at the bracelet and fracturing it into pieces. It was just a moment too late. The guards fired and Avon fell unconscious to the ground. "No, Gan!" Blake yelled. "Leave us here!" He fired back, dropping two of the guards, then noticed to his amazement that the 'Space Commander' and the other guard were on the ground. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Servalan slipping off away from the fracas. Trust her to save herself and to hell with Travis! he thought, contemptuously.

 

#

 

In the confusion, Travis and one other guard remained to face Blake. Travis had wrenched out the gun concealed in his clothing and was aiming it at Blake. "Don't move, you!" he said coldly.

"Nor you, Travis," remarked a familiar voice, as the third guard got to his feet. It was a voice which was shaking quite considerably, as was the gun its owner held. "Blake," Vila said in a terrified tone, "you nearly killed me." He extended his gun to Travis' head, and waited while Blake took Travis' gun, then passed out in a dead faint on the ground.

"How in heaven's name...?" Blake commenced, then remembered Avon and glanced across him. "Gan," he said into his teleport bracelet, "I've no less than two bodies on the ground here and we have to get them back to Liberator somehow, Avon's been shot. Get out the emergency gear, would you?" He then returned his direct attention to Travis. "I don't know whether you're in league with Gillatt or whether you've tricked him, and just at the moment I don't care. What I do care about is that my compatriot may be bleeding to death, and I have to get him away from here. You've cheated on an agreement, Travis, and you are beneath contempt. Get out of my sight."

Travis' lips curled, "You can't kill me," he said. "You don't have the guts. When I die, I want my death to lie to the account of a man with guts, Blake. You aren't going to be that man, are you, Blake?"

"Go before I change my mind!" Blake shouted, raising his gun although he knew in his heart that he would be hard put to use it. "Just go," he said more calmly, and when Travis had backed out of sight through the trees he looked across at Vila. "Are there any more of them here?" he enquired.

"No," Vila said, "not just here, but there's a whole company about two hundred metres off. Arcol's premier must have been monitoring events. I suspect the Federation have leaned on him but he must have managed to force Travis not to bring the whole group up here."

Blake nodded and spoke into his teleport bracelet. "Gan, bring us up. Avon's unconscious but we'll have to risk it."

"You'll probably kill him!" Vila exclaimed, eyeing the computer expert anxiously.

"If there's a company of Federation guards on its way here, we must take the risk," Blake responded. "Now, Gan...."

 

#

 

"He's tough as they come," Vila remarked, as he surveyed Avon lying on a medi-couch.

"He's very weak," Cally amended firmly. "The teleport did nearly kill him, but he'll be well enough again in a couple of days apart from needing to rest."

Vila grinned. "He won't like that, will he? Shall I sit with him and tell him riddles?"

"If you want to drive him straight into Servalan's arms...I can't think of a better way to persuade him to leave the Liberator."

"It strikes me," Vila murmured, rather regretfully, "that there are other arms around here that might welcome him. He's not very oncoming, is he."

"I can't imagine what you mean," Cally retorted sharply. "Now, suppose you make yourself useful, eh?"

"OK, if I must...I think he's waking up."

Avon's eyes flickered and opened slowly, then focused with difficulty. His first clear vision was of Vila bending over him, his round face filled with anxious concern. "That's all I wanted," Avon muttered shakily. "I suppose you shot me too?" His eyes closed again and he drifted back into sleep.

"Isn't it the limit?" Vila demanded. "But for me, he'd probably be dead, or at any rate captured. I was the one who took the worst risk, after all."

"Yes," Cally said, "I suppose that's true enough, yet you were lucky to be chosen to go with Travis or we might never have known you were there."

"I volunteered," Vila exclaimed, "They actually asked for volunteers for a very dangerous mission, so naturally I stepped forward."

"'Naturally'? Oh, Vila...you amaze me."

"Well--I suppose I hoped it was to be the rendezvous with Blake. They didn't tell us much, but I did a bit of sneaking around during quiet times and I rifled through all the documents and orders in the Commandant's cabin! So I did actually know...not for sure, of course, but it seemed reasonable to suppose..."

Cally shook her head. "A tarnished hero," she said with mock--sadness. "Oh, Vila!"

"Tarnished? Me? Pure burnished, I am, the very best, and you know it. Now--can I have a nice adrenalin and soma? I really do need it."

"Dying, are you?" Cally enquired sarcastically.

"Er...I nearly did," Vila said hopefully. "I'd no idea Blake would mow us all down."

"But he didn't mow you down, so you aren't dying. No, Vila."

Vila groaned. "I knew it," he muttered. "I should have stayed with Servalan.  _She_  let me drink whatever I liked, and whenever I liked."

"No wonder you look so pasty and paunchy," Cally interjected.

Vila glared at her. "I think I'll go back to Servalan," he said. "I was better off there."

"By all means," said Cally. "Travis will kill you, of course--whether Servalan likes it or not. You may be sure that Travis isn't afraid of Servalan."

Vila sighed. "Catch 22," he said gloomily. "No matter what I do, it's wrong; no matter where I am, it's dangerous; no matter what I say, I'm ridiculed. I'm going to sit in my cabin and meditate."

"That'll be difficult," Cally smiled. "According to Avon, you have no coherent thoughts, hence meditation would be an extremely complicated pastime for you."

"You're even getting like him," Vila said, waggling his finger at her reprovingly. "You don't have to agree with him, you know."

"I don't," Cally said. "Perhaps, like Servalan, I do sometimes feel that you are undervalued on this ship. Go on, Vila, take yourself off. There's nothing more you can do here."

Vila walked slowly to his cabin. As he passed Avon's cabin door, he nodded to himself as though to say 'Thank goodness he's going to make it...' and as he passed Cally's cabin door, he smiled wryly to himself, as though to say 'What a pity it isn't me you watch over,' then he entered his own cabin, sank down on the familiar bunk and stretched luxuriously. "Home," he said. "It's not perfect--but then, what ever is perfect? It's good enough."

 

#

 

"Notice, Riemel," Servalan said smugly to her Aide, "we aren't being kept waiting  _this_  time." She drifted across the President's office and he rose to greet her.

"My dear Supreme Commander...." his eyes were hard as ice, and his mouth with hatred.

Servalan had stretched her mouth at him, but warily. No way could it be called a smile, as it had been at their last meeting. "You wished to see me?"

"It is necessary...pressure from the Council."

"Ah." Servalan nodded, and prepared herself for the onslaught.

"It was criminal carelessness, allowing yourself to be captured by the rebel, Blake," the President said. "What were you thinking of, Servalan?"

She knew that excuses would be futile. "I was thinking of a summons," she said coolly, "from the President of the Terran Federation--a very insistent message, I might mention, for top-level consultation on Gallus."

"Gallus?" The President's face paled slightly. "There is no way...."

"How could I know that? Gallus is near the Shadow plantations...It made sense to me, in view of your--er--unusual interests." Was it  _only_  luck, Servalan had wondered once, during her captivity, that had made Blake choose Gallus? It had annoyed her to think that Blake was taking all the credit for trapping her.

Is there anything this dreadful woman doesn't know? the President wondered anxiously now. "Did it indeed?" he said, his voice even more hostile. "But you seem to have been so easily taken in, nonetheless."

"I?" Servalan stared at him angrily. "I received a top-secret message through a normal channel--why should I disbelieve it? I would suggest--Sir--that Security and Communications are showing their incompetence again. Perhaps you would like me to give them some advice?" Servalan smiled.

Inwardly as she visualised the reaction from the two State Organisations if she were allowed to intervene.

"No, no! That will not be necessary. Be assured I will reprimand those at fault very severely. Have you any idea how the message infiltrated the system?"

"Obviously Blake has competent colleagues. I begin to think that I have not--Sir."

The President sighed inwardly. It was clear that the disciplinary session was going to descend into a lecture from Servalan on the inefficiencies of all other organisations than her own and not---he had to admit--without some very good reason. "Very well," he said coldly, "we shall review all communications systems. Meantime, you may go."

Servalan moved gracefully towards the door, then turned to deliver her parting barb: "I could have betrayed you to Blake," she said. "What do you think he could have made of your involvement with Shadow and the Terra Nostra, President?"

The President stared back at her, his face pale with rage. "Get out," he said, "and mind your friends. Remember that the Terra Nostra has many contacts--and your name is now on its death list, Servalan. Your days are numbered unless you please me."

"But they  _won't_  kill me," Servalan smiled, "because I know just a little too much--and I haven't kept the information  _entirely_  to myself. Good day--Sir."

She was still smiling as she moved into the outer office. They'll never kill me, she thought, because they know I am too powerful to touch--just as he is, at any rate, for the moment, which is a pity. "Riemel," she said, collecting her Aide who had waited for her in the Antechamber, "come--we have work to do: worlds to conquer, enemy fleets to fight, rebels to slaughter. There will always be another day, Riemel: oh, I shall see to that!"

the end


End file.
